A Surprising Safety

Chapter Four: Family Ties

It is said that power corrupts, but actually it's more true that power attracts the corruptible. The sane are usually attracted by other things than power.
- David Brin

"I must apologize for my son," Narcissa conceded. "Draco oughtn't to meddle in his father's business, unless explicitly given permission. As you are currently Lucius' business, you should know that you have the right to...challenge Draco."

Hermione recoiled, and was thankful that the other woman was not facing her. Challenge Draco?

"I suppose you have not had dinner?" Narcissa asked coolly, plainly not interested in discussing her previous statement.

"No, I was in a study, reading," Hermione confessed cautiously.

Narcissa nodded, and threw open two double doors, revealing a small dining room. There was a fireplace, as was common not only for warmth but communication, a long, gleaming wooden table set for two, and soft light that spilled from light-charmed spheres. Hints of the wealth associated with the room were everywhere - in the expensive china, coffered ceiling, and antique lace tablecloth.

Narcissa gestured for Hermione to have a seat, and as she unfolded a napkin in her lap, the entrée magically appeared on her plate. Her glass also filled crimson with wine.

Hermione deliberately took a sip from the wine goblet, smiled, and began to calmly eat.

Narcissa arched an eyebrow (a trait Draco had inherited from her and which Lucius had picked up, contrary to popular belief) and also began to eat her dinner.

They didn't speak through the first three courses, and by that time Hermione's wine goblet was empty. She fumed, silently, knowing Narcissa was making a statement with this, and a rather rude one. As she'd learned in France, a hostess never allowed a guest's wine glass to fall below half full. And her's was empty. She waited for the inevitable bombshell while nibbling on the fruit and cheese.

Narcissa didn't fail to deliver.

"If I understand my husband's intentions correctly, you are to remain with our family for an extended period," Narcissa began. "I feel it is my duty to make certain things clear to you."

Unused to dissembling, Hermione's face completely displayed her disbelief. Before the blonde woman had another chance to speak, Hermione did. "I don't quite understand why you would take the trouble."

"You Muggleborns certainly are blunt, aren't you?" Narcissa replied, amused. "My husband - and my - interests extend so far as to our own advantage, I admit."

"Perhaps I wasn't blunt enough," Hermione answered, wanting to egg a response out of someone in this family. "Why haven't I been raped, tortured, or killed yet?"

"I thought Lucius made that quite clear to you," Narcissa pointed out. "You are to be taught the Dark Arts."

"Yes, but you're not even trying to kill me! I'm sure V- Voldemort wouldn't have cared if Lucius cast the Cruciatus a few times more then was necessary, and you keep giving obscure answers to blatant questions!" Hermione argued. "At least Draco's acting normal, except for the whole..." her voice trailed off. She wasn't sure she wanted Narcissa to know exactly how Draco had been acting.

"You are wrong that the Dark Lord would be unconcerned. He would have preferred to train you himself, but assumed Lucius would have a stronger influence on you, as well as Draco," Narcissa explained.

That's a total lie - isn't it? And why is she telling me the Dark Lord's plans? How much could she know as a Death Eater's wife? Hermione thought frantically.

"You ask yourself why you are being treated decently. Dark magic performs better in a willing witch or wizard," Narcissa continued.

"I would never choose that," Hermione emphatically maintained.

Narcissa looked at her, a faint smile on her lips. "You would be surprised how quickly and easily one will trade sides, whether for supposed good or evil. It comes down to what a witch or wizard wants, and how much they are willing to do to get it."

Hermione didn't answer her, and Narcissa didn't speak again, except to ask her if she needed help finding her way back when their meal was finished. Hermione accepted, and a house-elf with conspicuous bandages on its feet limped in, moaning as it led her to her room.

The door, Hermione noticed immediately, had been repaired. She studied it for evidence of damage, and the portrait across the hall loudly stated, "It was magically mended, you know."

"Oh, really?" she replied, faking surprise. "I thought you just went out and bought a new door." She opened said door, and shut it behind her, happy for a victory over a Malfoy family member, even if it was a picture.

She flopped down onto the bed, which annoyingly softened to keep her from bouncing off.

"That," Hermione announced to the room, "Was an extremely interesting dinner."

Standing again to walk around the room, Hermione continued to talk aloud and sort her thoughts. "They're obviously confident that I will choose to join Voldemort, or else the amount of leniency so far imposed would be absent. But Lucius isn't acting quite as respectfully as she suggests he is - an effort to scare me? Or is his ultimate goal with the barely civil attitude meant to make me act cruel as well; an effort to control my environment, perhaps?

"And Draco - what is he doing? Lucius said he's supposed to be a good influence on me. Is Draco a training tool for me?" Hermione asked herself. Every question simply led to another question, not an answer.

Alright, so how do I start getting answers? I don't think a library could help me with this one.

Not Lucius - he wouldn't answer her questions. He clearly hated Hermione, and was there to teach her the Dark Arts, nothing more.

Narcissa? No, she was too faithful to her husband, too supportive of the Dark Lord's plan. She helped in the plan to kill Sirius, Hermione thought. She's just as ruthless as her husband.

That left Draco, the house elves, the portraits, and any ghosts. Draco was a last resort, she hadn't seen any ghosts, and the house elves would have to punish themselves to tell her anything - not an option, Hermione firmly decided. Which left the portraits.

The one across the hall from Hermione's room was snoozing when she quietly opened the door. Tip-toeing down the hall, she walked up to a painting of a girl swinging, a child, and quietly spoke to her.

"Excuse me?" Hermione said.

The little girl looked at her. "Who are you?" she asked. "There's nobody like you in this house."

"My name's Hermione," Hermione answered. "What's your name?"

"I'm Honoria," the girl replied, having gotten off her swing and plopped down in the grass, pulling at flowers. "I'm dead."

"Oh, I'm...sorry." Hermione wasn't sure what to say.

"My father was Tiberus Malfoy, and my mother was Dione Earnshaw, daughter of Merrick Earnshaw III and Lilith Rosier," Honoria recited rapidly. "My brother's name is Lucius. Don't you think that's a silly name? I think it's even worse then Vesan- Vespa- Vespasian."

"Your brother's name is Lucius?" Hermione interjected.

"Yes, he's older then me. He went to Hogwarts for three years before I was born. He didn't know what to do with a little sister. But I died when I was eight anyway, so it didn't matter. Should I put another flower in?" The girl frowned, examining the flower chain she'd been making.

"No, why don't you wear it as a crown?" Hermione suggested. "Do you still speak to your brother? He lives here, you know."

"No, he's busy. But I do see him sometimes," Honoria said.

So she was Lucius' sister and died when he was around twenty-one, Hermione thought. "Honoria, I don't want to make you upset, but how did you die?"

"It was sad," Honoria announced with big eyes. "I was sick for two weeks. The Healers couldn't do anything, and Mother cried and Father shouted at them, and Lucius held my hand. He brought someone else in, who cast spells that scared me, but they couldn't do anything either. I remember the Healers saying it was part of the epidemic."

"Thank you," Hermione answered.

"I'm going to go play now. The unicorns let me ride them when I bring flowers!" Honoria skipped out of her portrait, presumably to find said unicorns.

"An epidemic," Hermione repeated. She didn't know of any epidemics in 1975 - could the Healers have been referring to the spurt of unexplained deaths during the Years of Terror? Just what had killed Honoria, and had her death tipped Lucius into the Death Eaters? Hermione found it difficult to believe that a Lucius who hadn't always been a stanch follower of Voldemort had ever existed. Surely, though, he had. Like Draco? she thought. He was prejudiced the day he walked into Hogwarts, and certainly wants to join Voldemort. But she knew that was unfair to say - he hadn't shown he wanted to join the Death Eaters, as irritating, prejudiced, and mean and petty as he could be.

Hermione continued down the hallway, and came to another portrait. This one was writing, its painted quill scratching away at a piece of parchment.

"No, that's not right either!" the man exclaimed. He sighed, grabbed a knife and scraped off what he'd written. His black wizard's hat tipped forward, smearing the ink on the parchment.

"Excuse me," Hermione began.

"What do you want, chit?" the man brusquely replied.

"You don't have to be so rude!" Hermione snapped back, angry at his behavior already.

"And you don't have to interrupt me. I'm busy," the man argued.

"Doing what?" Hermione sneered. "You're a painting." She hadn't been that mean in ages - it felt good to let the anger out.

The wizard looked furious, and grabbed a brush beside him, and his inkpot. "Goodbye," he said calmly, and then threw the inkpot. Hermione jumped back, expecting the ink to splash out of the portrait, but it splattered across the front of the painting, and the wizard smeared it around with his brush, until Hermione couldn't see him.

"On to the next one, then," Hermione sighed.

"You'll never get anything out of Uncle Willielimus," Draco announced, coming up from behind Hermione. She jumped.

"Does your family have a strange fetish for Latin names?" Hermione answered peevishly.

"No - it's traditional in some of the older families. The Snapes follow it as well, as do the Rookwoods and Travers," Draco replied. He seemed to be thinking, his eyes staring off into space.

In that utterly wizardly house, surrounded by magic and infused with the history of generations of one of Europe's oldest magical families, Hermione felt a bit of what the purebloods claimed as their culture. It was a deep one, ancient, rigid with tradition, intent on surviving the years despite the changing times. She may not agree with it - but it was a culture, and one she had to admit exists.

"Why did you want to talk to him anyway?" Draco inquired, folding his arms and looking down at her.

All sympathy for the pureblood aristocracy vanished with that gesture. Hermione's own prejudice returned with a vengeance and she folded her arms as well, looking defiantly up at him. "I wanted," she said, "To find out more about your father's intentions. How he plans to turn me dark."

"So you asked the portraits," Draco retorted.

"Yes," Hermione conceded, suddenly feeling foolish. Bloody Slytherin.

"You do realize that there are two other people who live in this house, as well as an extensive library?" Draco offered, having fun with her ignorance.

"I already spoke to your mother. She's as partisan as your father," Hermione scoffed.

"My apologies," Draco snapped.

Hermione quickly realized she'd insulted his mother. Never thought he'd be one to leap to her defence. Of course, there was that incident with Harry....

"Didn't Father make it clear to you?" he continued.

"No, he didn't. I have questions, and no one to answer them!" Hermione burst.

Draco whipped out a wand, and conjured two stools. They looked rickety and worn. He shrugged. "I can't manage to do chairs yet." He sat down on the better one.

Hermione was still somewhat impressed. Vanishing spells had been all too easy for her, but Conjuring spells had been more difficult. Of course, his wand isn't bound to perform only the Dark Arts. She took a seat, then blinked. "Malfoy, why are we sitting in the hallway when my room is right there?"

Draco looked a bit surprised. He stood, waved his wand again, and the stools vanished, leaving Hermione to fall hard. Opening the door to her bedroom, Draco waited impatiently. "Are you coming?"

"When I get up from the ground you dropped me on, yes, I'll be happy to join you," Hermione cried.

"Sarcasm doesn't become you, hon," Draco quipped, putting on a fake American accent.

Hermione stood and opened the door beside Draco, refusing to accept the one he held open for her. "Don't call me hon. And you sound like a New Yorker," she sulked.

"No, I don't," Draco retorted, seeming insulted. "I sound like a Texan. Blaise agreed."

"Zabini would know this...how?" Hermione questioned. "His grandparents don't even speak English."

"How did you know that?" Draco exclaimed. First the Black family home, now Blaise's grandparents? "You're a Gryffindor, for god's sake!"

"I saw them visit him last year, after exams. They're very Italian," Hermione replied, feeling quite smug.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you wanted to be a Slytherin," Draco stated, a smirk (or was it a smile?) crossing his features as they bickered. "Or did you just want to sle - "

Hermione drew her wand, pointing it at Draco. "Don't finish that sentence, Malfoy. Unless you want me to hex you."

"Don't be stupid," he sneered. "That wand's enchanted to reflect the hex back on its caster if directed at a Malfoy."

Actually, Hermione thought gleefully, it's enchanted to protect your Father from me. "Furnunculus!"

He was right, Hermione realized immediately, with a sinking feeling. The purple light beam hit Malfoy and rebounded, strengthening to a deep violet. She saw Malfoy's shocked face at the wand's actions as well, and then the spell hit her and she blacked out.